Scraps
by VulcanChicks
Summary: Forty years after Wheatley is banished to the lonely abyss of space, he makes an unexpected return, finding himself at the mercy of an elderly farmer who mistakes him for salvageable scrap metal. But when the beaten-up old bot is taken into the farmer's home, he finds himself faced with the desire to seek out an old acquaintance to make things right. Oneshot.


Zeke was well-adjusted for an older gentleman. At sixty-seven, he still made it a point to go out on daily walks and to enjoy the sunshine and the rain alike. He needed them both for his crops, after all. Like most others in the area, he lived a modest life, one that was still quite plentiful in the eyes of travelers, and he made it his business to know when someone could use a hand.

He lived together with his wife and their daughter and grandchildren in a simple farmhouse on a decently-sized plot of land a good ways off from most other folks, their other rural neighbors excluded. The entire extended family pitched in to work the land, and they were largely self-sufficient, although they occasionally traded excess produce for meat from their neighbors when their hunts and traps were unsuccessful.

Occasionally, when he went out for an afternoon, Zeke would come across an old piece of scrap metal. These he collected and took to the nearest town some three hours' walk to the north where he would pawn them for tools and other goods. It was to the family's benefit that he do this, because most of what he found was broken or otherwise of no use to them. On a rare occasion, something functional like a wheelbarrow or a mostly-functional icebox would show up, and it would be added to their collective wealth. And it was on one such special occasion that his most remarkable find would come.

It was a cool evening in early autumn on one of Zeke's usual strolls on one of his usual routes when he noticed an unusually bright star in the sky. The longer he stared at it, the brighter it became, and closer, too, unless he was sorely mistaken. A falling star, perhaps? He hadn't seen one in years.

It soon became apparent that whatever it was, it was hurdling down at an alarming rate and in his general direction. He ran from it, his eyes never leaving it, not even for a moment, and when he felt safely positioned, he watched as it crashed somewhere over the hill, sending up a spray of dirt and twigs. Curious, he went to investigate.

The crash site was covered in a smoky haze of kicked-up dust, and the smell of crisp, burning leaves filled the air. Zeke wandered cautiously up to the crater at the end of its twenty-foot skid path and peeked inside. There in the hot, glowing pit lay a metal sphere of some sort. It was old and beat up and very clearly man-made. What business it had in the sky was beyond him. Still, scrap was scrap, so he waited for it to cool down to a manageable temperature and then wrapped it in his light jacket for easier and safer carrying. With that, he and his not-meteor were on their way back home.

Near the halfway point, Zeke could've sworn he felt movement inside the ramshackle sack. A preposterous notion for sure, he scolded himself before carrying on. Scrap metal, _all metal_ was lifeless, inanimate. If anything, it was just a few loose parts shifting about as he—

"Aaah!" came a startled shout from the jacket. "I've gone blind! Not good, this is _really_ not good."

Zeke nearly leapt out of his skin as he dropped the package. "Show yerself!" he demanded. "I don't aim to hurt ya, but I will if ya make me."

The odd handlebars on the sphere flexed, pushing part of the jacket away. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me," it begged, flailing helplessly in its casing. "All I know is that it's really really dark and that I've got no clue where I am."

"What are ya?" the man inquired, nudging the lump with his foot, half worried, half curious. The ball rolled a little, revealing a giant, piercing blue LED eye in a mechanized socket. The blue part shrunk down to a pinprick. "Some kind of alien bot?"

"Easy there with the foot, mate," it cautioned uneasily. "But let's talk about this like civilized people, shall we? I don't think I look like any kind of alienware, now do I? Of course not! Because I'm a personality construct. The Aperture kind, human handiwork. See my little mark?" The inner part of the sphere rotated within the outer part, drawing attention to a circular black stamp on the former.

Zeke nodded thoughtfully. "Don't know what that Aperture business is, but I've never heard of an alien that sounded like a Brit anyway." He picked up the jacket once more, this time careful to position its contents in a way that it could see. "What's a non-alien gizmo doing up past the stratosphere?"

"Long story, that one," sighed the sphere.

"I've got time."

Chell was worried sick. In all the years they'd been together, Zeke had never been late unannounced. She ignored the delightful fragrance of the venison stew her daughter, Nat, had set before her, eyes fixed on the door.

"Is Grammy okay?" Cole, Nat's youngest, asked in a worried whisper. "She hasn't touched her supper."

"She's waiting for Papap to come back," replied Jess, his sister.

Nat hushed them both. "You two should focus on your own bowls. Papap will be back soon." She looked up at her mother. "He always comes back."

Chell didn't budge.

A few minutes passed before there was a rap and a voice at the front door. "Someone care to help an old fellow out? I've got a great surprise for all of ya." It was Zeke.

Chell leapt up from the table, elated and relieved as she got the door for him. Unsurprisingly, she remained quite nimble for her age.

"Hey, darling. Good to see ya again," he chuckled as he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Ya won't ever guess what I found on my walk."

"More alien gadgets?" offered Cole, abandoning the stew and rushing to the door.

"Better than that, bucko!"

"Better than last year's space debris? This I gotta see." Jess raised an eyebrow in disbelief, joining them.

"Stop it, dad," said Nat from her seat at the table, smiling. "You're getting them all worked up. If this is another 'authentic' part of a vintage Coke machine…"

"Nonono," the old man insisted, waving his hands defensively. "This is no vintage Coke part, even though these other ones were real, I'll have you know. No, this is something new, something I've never heard of before." He walked out the door, returning momentarily with his jacket which was wrapped around a large lump. He pulled the top part back, revealing a dented and scraped-up metal sphere with a large, friendly-looking blue eye in its center that was framed by two handles, both of which wiggled charmingly. "Say hello to the family, Wheatley."

"Ello!" he chirped. "You have no idea how glad I am to see a set of friendly faces. Makes me feel loads better to know you aren't planning to kill me or anything. To think there'd be such a warm welcome for a bloke come back from space!"

The children squealed excitedly and begged to touch him, to hold him, or to at least have him be put down so they could better share him. Even Nat, whose difficult-to-impress nature was a marked part of her personality at large, was awestruck and came over to inspect their new visitor, who Zeke gladly set on the couch for easier access.

Detaching herself from the commotion, Chell took her place at the table, her back to them all, and ate her stew in silence. She felt her husband's firm hand on her shoulder.

"Something the matter, turnip? Don't ya want to greet our guest?"

She shook her head slightly.

"If it's space that's the problem, we can easily make room for ya. Ya can sit on the couch with him if ya want, even."

Her shoulders tensed at the thought. She shook her head again.

He frowned out her sudden, irregular behavior. "Why ever not?"

_He knows me,_ she signed stiffly.

Zeke chewed the inside of his cheek uneasily. "Ya want me to put him out? I can do that."

For a few thoughtful moments, Chell contemplated the offer before signing a negatory. _He can stay, but I'm turning in for the night. I need to clear my head._

"Ya do that, sweetheart," he replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Give me a shout if ya need anything, okay?"

She nodded and returned the squeeze before getting up and heading to their bedroom.

Later that evening, when the rest of the family had retired for the day, Zeke prepared a small nest of pillows for Wheatley so that he wouldn't be able to roll away, accidentally or otherwise.

"It looks quite lovely," the AI remarked pleasantly, "and your family was quite pleasant, too. Wonderful company, very eager to give ol' Wheatley some attention. Just the thing to jump-start recovery from a very-well-near eternity spent alone in space." He looked up at his host inquisitively.

"And no offense or anything, but your lady-friend didn't seem too keen on having visitors. Is she always like that? Quiet, cold, distant?"

"She says ya know her. Didn't say how, only that ya did," he responded nonchalantly. "Any clue how that might be?"

Wheatley laughed. "Me, know an old maid like that? Not likely, mate. You lot excluded, the only people I've ever spent time with are ones with most of the color in their hair, and even then, I never _knew them_ knew them, if you know what I mean. An acquaintance-only type of relationship, for the most part. So no, no idea what she meant by that."

"Fair enough," said Zeke with a shrug. "See ya in the morning, Wheatley." And with that, he clicked off the light and left the room.

The whole night long, Wheatley lay wide awake in his protective bedding, the light of his wandering optic conducting a sensual dance of shadows against the walls and roof. The old women could be crazy, but she didn't seem to be. And what reason would she have for fabricating such a claim? It made no sense. He wracked his rusty mental processors, seeking an answer, or at the very least, a clue as to who this woman might be.

Well-rested from her early night, Chell was the first to rise. The apples were starting to fall from their trees, and she usually took it upon herself to collect them. Her container of choice, a large wicker basket the color of a horse's mane that Zeke had acquired on a trip to town many years ago, was stored in the broom closet on the main floor. The closet door itself was right next to the couch, where she correctly presumed he was still lying. She hoped she would be able to get it without eliciting his attention. It was silly, really. All these years and she would now rather avoid than confront him. It was this damned old age making her soft, she assured herself silently as she tip-toed past the back of the couch.

"Oh, there you are!"

She cringed at the disgusting amount of cheer in his voice. Just slip on by? It was a nice thought, but terribly implausible. Giving in, she faced him, arms crossed and mouth creased into a solid frown.

"Look, I don't know why you're avoiding me, but I promise to try my very best to stop doing that thing that upsets you, whatever it is," he added.

_Working?_ she thought with a wry smile. _Good luck._

"Anyway, I was thinking last night, and there's this person I'm looking for. I could use all the help I can get. And it's really _really_ important that I find her, so if you happen to come across a younger lady in an orange jumpsuit, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could direct me to her, or better yet, her to me, seeing as moving isn't really on the list of options available to me at the moment."

Chell raised an inquisitive eyebrow. A vital message for a woman in a jumpsuit, eh?

"Now don't look at me like that, lady," he said as his gaze fell sheepishly to the floor. "It's a bit personal, the thing I've got to say."

She only seemed more interested.

"Nosy old thing, aren't you?" he grumbled. "Well, if you must know, I want to apologize to her. I was extraordinarily rotten to her a while back, and I want to try and make amends, if possible. You understand, right, what with your being old and wise-looking and the like?"

Chell nodded slowly. It was very predictable that he would want to get back on her good side, if he was ever on it to begin with, but hearing him actually say it was still odd and slightly jarring. Never in her wildest dreams had she actually imagined this happening.

"—or we could check the local boutique. I think I recall her wanting a designer jumpsuit from France. Maybe we'll find her there." He hadn't even concerned himself with making sure she was paying attention as he rambled on about ways to track the mystery woman. How utterly Wheatley.

The more she listened to him, the more Chell thought. She held up a finger to him, signaling for him to pause.

"Stop? But I've only just barely begun listing her hideouts! Haven't even touched the holes in the walls yet."

She did it again, more forcefully this time, before rushing out to the orchard. He was right, she thought as she picked a marbled red-and-yellow apple from its tree. It had been a long time ago, long enough for her to escape, long enough for her to adjust to a normal life on the surface, long enough for her to move on from her old life as a test subject. And move on she had. Did he truly deserve her forgiveness? Of course not. But even the most righteous of creatures do not deserve half of what they receive. It had been over forty years, and he still sought redemption, so there must be at least an ounce of purity to his intentions. If more negativity were to come into the world, it would not be by her hand. Now was the time to truly move on, for good this time.

"Oh, you're hungry?" commented the metal ball as she returned to the room. "Almost forgot humans have to have nutrients and all that. Don't mind me. Eat up!"

She shook her head and placed the fruit beside him. It rolled into him, sliding down his lower handle.

"Don't think I don't appreciate it, because really I do, but I can't eat, you know. Severely lacking in the arms and mouth and digestive tract departments. But I can easily understand your trying to feed me, what with your motherly instinct and all."

Rolling her eyes with an impatient sigh, she took it back and held it up for him before managing a small jump that took her nowhere, her eyes glued to him expectantly.

"Nonono, that's an apple! That there was a jump. Why on earth would you…?" He trailed off. "Oh my god. It's _you?_" He could see it now: the stern and focused eyes, the grizzled hair pulled back into a bun while a few strands still ran wild across her cheeks and forehead, some nestling into the aged lines carved into them. They were most definitely all hers, his once-partner-in-crime. "Bloody hell you've gotten old."

She smiled and set the apple down once more. Wheatley, completely and unmistakably Wheatley. She sat beside him among the cushions.

"Ah, the apology, just like I've rehearsed!" He made a sound like he was clearing his throat before the dam broke. "I'm sorry, so so so so _so_ sorry, more sorry than you can even fathom, because everything I did to you was horribly wrong, every bit. You didn't deserve to be smashed into a pit or teased with freedom and your parents and pony farms or be called a fatty or a monster. And you most certainly didn't deserve me trying to kill you. No, if anyone did the deserving of that, it was me for being so horrible and bossy and absolutely monstrous to you, and I completely deserved to be stranded in space. I understand perfectly if you hate me or want to kill me or _aaaah!_"

Chell wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly to her chest, shutting him up. She'd heard quite enough.

"Aaaa! You're… not killing me? No, hugging is very different from that. It normally means…" He stopped, his single eye stopping on her. "So we're good now? Just like that?"

She put her cheek to his hull with a small smile. They sat together on the couch, just the two of them in relative silence, until the rest of the family awoke to start the day. There were many busy hours of apple picking ahead, and now that Wheatley was here to stay, he might as well pitch in, too.


End file.
